


The Artist

by zombolouge



Series: Counting the Stars [3]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Aleks is a massive dork, M/M, Side Story, This will make zero sense if you haven't read the main story, a retelling of a romance from another POV, old and new content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9345329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombolouge/pseuds/zombolouge
Summary: The story of how Jumin fell for Aleks, told from Aleks' perspective.





	1. He Saw Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion story to As Bright as the Stars, and will not make much sense if you haven't read that one, so I recommend starting there if you are interested in this. ^^
> 
> To those who already read that one, WELCOME BACK. I should have been doing other things today, but I didn't wanna, so you get this a bit earlier than expected. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT. <3

It didn’t feel like home, but opening the window helped.

It felt eternally warm in this new, strange land. Back home he would have had to bundle up in an electric blanket, even with the heating on, wiggling his toes next to the coils beneath the soft fleece so that the warmth could seep into his bones. He would have to leave behind the comfort in order to play, of course, but that had always been part of the challenge. He would brave the chilly air long enough to get through a song, then dart back under the waiting covers to reinvigorate his limbs. It had helped him become efficient in his song selection over the years, if nothing else.

Here, though? It was the late, grasping end of fall, but it felt like summer to him. His apartment was probably drafty by local standards, but it still felt cramped and stifling, a barren oven in which he had piled his things. So, he threw open the window, letting the autumn wind usher the homesickness out of the sparse rooms. He wouldn’t be able to do so anymore when Mishka arrived, as he would fret far too much about her jumping from the ledge, but for now he could indulge.

He walked across the room, his bare feet slapping across the hardwood floors as he made his way to the piano. It took up more space than his couch, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t as though he had anyone to entertain, so the lack of seating was hardly a concern. His mother had tried to talk him into a larger place, with grander furnishings, but he cared little for such things. Music was what he required, and music was what he pursued. He had moved half-way around the world chasing that dream, and so why would he covet empty furniture that could no more further his dreams than it could entice friends to occupy it?

He sat at the bench in front of the elegant instrument, sliding his fingers along the keys. He was thousands of miles away from what he was used to, but _this_ still felt like home. He played a note, letting it hang in the air, delicate and sonorous. It was part of him, the only part of himself that had never brought him grief, and he never failed to cherish it in return. Loving music was as simple and natural to him as breathing, which was why he had let his mother convince him to pursue it with relentless dedication. He had forgone expanding every other part of his life to practice his craft. Friends, social life, romance, political advancements. His mother participated in those things, but Aleks merely played. He rose from bed in the morning and sought his piano, he went to sleep at night with his fingers still thrumming from the feel of the keys. It was his everything.

Not that a gay man who had grown up in Russia would have had many opportunities to make friends, or a social life, or romance, or any semblance of political advancement. He had made some companions, over time, but they had burned bright and faded quickly. Lovers were brief and in secret, kept from the roving eyes of the public because it was impossible to tell whom it would offend. It was dissatisfying to him. The lies, the ambiguity of a relationship that could never be claimed because it could get them ostracized, or worse. Eventually his desire for affection had dwindled, and he had given up on its pursuit. What was the point if it would never go anywhere? What was the purpose of a love that must hang in limbo, constantly in the wavering middle between beginning and end? It was better to abandon such things. It was better to play music.

His hands began to move, pressing the keys and coaxing a song from them. A breeze rushed through the window, stirring his curtains and running rings around the room. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the tune, imagining that the wind carried the notes that he played out into the world beyond. He played a song that matched his mood, the poetry of melancholy both abstract and tangible. It was sad, and whispered of hints of frost and sorrow, his heart bleeding into the melody as he wished for cold winters and warmer hearts. Could a sonata reach the sky and churn the clouds until they drizzled snow? Could a crescendo summon what it was that he dreamed of? He broke his own heart with the questions, but he could not erase the sentiment, and so he embraced it, letting it flow through him and trickle from the tips of his hands. It was inescapably honest, and that made it cathartic. Let the notes of winter reveal his soul to the world. Let the wind carry his fickle hopes to the skies, filling the clouds with frigid loneliness, with wistfulness for a home that did not want him, with longing for a home that would. Let it hang there, until the day had ended and the night stretched across the world like banks of velvet. Let the stars hold his grief for him, so that when it overtook him on days like this it would not be too much to bear. Let them keep it, let them hide it, so that he might ignore it as he played.

_Pust_ _’  tol’ko polnoch’ znayu, moye serdtse. Let only the midnight know my heart._

He finished the song, letting the notes hang for a moment as the wind brushed through his hair. He opened his eyes, looking out the window, expecting to see nothing but the quiet street, heedless of his music and therefore heedless of his heart.

Instead he saw midnight, standing there in a coat and staring at him.

The man was tall, dressed in dark attire that spoke of mourning. His hair was black, his eyes charcoal, everything about him forbidding in its somberness, except the scarf around his neck, a soft blue that was like a feathered bird sailing across the night sky. His gaze was intense as he looked back at Aleks through the window, though he was too far away to have its emotion discerned. The wind whipped his hair around his cheeks, but he himself remained still, an elegant statue come to serve as his solitary audience. Aleks had no breath in his lungs, no beat to his heart. All he had were eyes full of beauty that he could not turn away from.

The man noticed his regard, and startled before he hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He turned and walked away, his every movement brisk and purposeful. Even in motion he seemed a statue, carved out of marble by a master craftsman, every curve and angle a thing of poetry and reverence. Aleks stood and walked to the window, gripping the frame so that he could lean out enough to watch him go. He stared until he turned the corner, disappearing from view, disappearing form his life like the ebb of a tide that would never return.

Aleks had been attracted to men before. He had seen and been with men who made women swoon, who had faces that could charm crowds, or bodies capable of stirring heat in anyone’s loins. Aleks was not an inexperienced boy with dawning sexuality, and was not easily distracted by things of that ilk. He had been in this world long enough that his heart had stopped racing over such things. He had resigned himself to loneliness, and so the barren hope of more was not a whim that he chased.

But he had never seen a man that looked like music before, and that was dangerous.

That made him think of things that had long since been forgotten. It made him stand in the window for some time after the midnight man had disappeared, out of sight but never out of mind. It made him bite his lip as he fought with warring wishes, the air in his lungs too warm and the thrum of his heart too fast. Should he go after him? Should he try to catch up and ask if he had been listening to him play?

No. That was folly. That was arrogance that he knew only led to bitterness and regret. It was better to keep this man as a fond memory. As an impetus to inspire his art, something that he could reach for when the notes fell flat or the melodies ceased to sound. Love was for the brave, but music was something he could obtain.

He turned, marching back to his piano with his chin held high in the air, as though the bare walls of his apartment should be forced to witness his stubborn pride. He sat on the bench and opened the drawer above the keys, pulling out sheets of blank paper with empty music staffs measured across them. He had to rifle through the drawer a bit deeper before he located his pencil, but he finally found it and pulled it free. He tucked it between his teeth as he settled the pages where he needed them.

Then he sat and stared, wondering what it was that was stirring in his chest, marveling at the feelings that yearned to be sounds but as yet were too abstract to name. The papers seemed to stare back at him, defiant in their silence, no notes for him to play, no instructions for him to follow. It was his canvas, his slate with which to carve meaning onto the world, and it was judging him for his delay. Every second that he waited was an offense to the page, to the potential of what it could be.

He closed his eyes, and he did not have to call for the image of the man in the coat, because it flooded through his mind immediately. Clear, crystalline and hallow. The lines of his shoulders well defined beneath the jacket, the way the scarf had brushed against his cheek when he had shrugged beneath the cold. The way his face had looked, in the precious moment before he knew that he was being observed. He had been a statue, but his eyes had been full of life, a secret burning in his gaze that he wished to shutter and hide from the world. Aleks wanted to see the statue be free, he wanted to see him dance to the wild rhythms of the stars, midnight come alive while no one watched, so that no observer could steal its beauty.

He took the pencil out of his mouth, scribbling furiously before he lost it, before the memory of the man started to fade and the inspiration would disappear forever. He worked to compose the piece that would serve as the sorrowful reminder that there was someone in this world that had moved him to awe, and Aleks had stood and watched him walk away.

***

It had been five days.

Five days since his world had started slipping into madness because the man that Aleks had let walk away had _continued_ _to come back._

That was not in his plans. His great future of loneliness and self-sacrifice for his art had found itself threatened. He could not function like this. He stared at the ceiling above his bed, the clock on the side of the wall leering at him, demanding that he sleep even though it knew damn well that would not be possible around his bundled nerves. He could not think, he could not unpack, the boxes stacked in his room remaining stubbornly taped. All he could do was think about tomorrow, when he would walk by his window, endlessly pacing as he waited to see if the pattern would repeat, if he would once again return and stand there, defiant in the face of the fate that Aleks had resigned himself to. He was supposed to have disappeared into the threads of time, a lone man on a single day, an anomaly that had left an impression on him but would nonetheless never repeat.

Instead, he came like clockwork at the same time that he had arrived before, standing beneath his windowsill to listen to him play.

_That_ was the truly egregious part. Not that he returned, but that it was the music that had lured him. How was that fair? How was he supposed to resist the temptation of this elegant creature, who appeared to adore the very thing that Aleks held most dear? Aleks played, and the man listened. Each day that this cycle continued made the urge to seek him out that much stronger.

He wished that he could see him, to see what he looked like as he heard the songs. Aleks could only get the barest sense of his reaction, because he was too far away. Surely the music made him happy. Surely he would not return if he was not pleased with what he heard. That was the only sensible conclusion he could draw, wasn’t it? The logic of it was not enough, however. Aleks wanted to study his face, to see if he could discern why he would bother walking down the same street every day just to hear someone play piano in their apartment. It was ludicrous. It was absurd.

It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.

He had to talk to him, and he knew this. He had to go out an meet this person who had dedicated so much time to him, if only to thank him. To thank him for the motivation to play, for the motivation to get out of bed every day in this unfamiliar place, the motivation to be thrilled by something that was not imaginary, was not a wistful dream. He wanted to march down the stairs and sweep him in his arms, to imbue his gratitude directly onto his lips, to say something suave and charming that would steal his attention in the same way that he had stolen Aleks’.

This was, of course, impossible. Aleks was not a bold man, and just the thought of speaking to the impromptu listener sent uncontrollable shivers up and down his spine. He could not simply waltz up to him and say hello. He was incapable of such things. Still, he knew that he could not avoid it forever. His need to meet him, to know his name and hear his voice, was overwhelming and all-consuming. He could have no rest until they had been introduced, but for that he needed a plan.

He had been toying with ideas since yesterday, when he had realized that he would not be content to allow this companionship to move forward at a distance. He needed a gesture, a reason to go speak to him. He needed something to do, to present him with, to keep his awkwardness hidden beneath layers of purpose while he waded his way through a first impression. He had considered a half dozen terrible plans before he had thought of offering him coffee. It was simple, it was friendly. It was nonthreatening and easily declined, should it happen to make him uncomfortable. Coffee was the perfect solution.

But what would he say?

_Hello, I think you are incredibly attractive._

_Hello, yes, you seem to like music, and I also like music, and so I thought that we could like music together, or in a closer proximity to one another than we had already been participating in..._

_I play piano, and you appear to enjoy that. Shall we date?_

_You are the most captivating man I have ever met, and I need to know your name._

_Please don_ _’t run away screaming, but I would like to hold your hand please._

He was, as he well knew, not very good at introductions. He tended to do better when he was in the moment, speech coming much easier to him when faced with an actual person rather than the idea of a person, but that would not stop him from over thinking things and imagining every possible outcome that he could conceive. Unless he willed himself to stop before he fell into a pit of despair at his own idiocy.

He sighed, rolling over on his bed and burying his face in his pillow. He knew nothing about this man, and so imaging what it would be like to meet him was nigh impossible. As much as it scared him, he would be going in blind no matter how much he prepared, and so he should attempt to stop his fretting so that he could get some rest. He would have to quiet his whirring mind, halt the ceaseless thoughts that ran in destructive circles. He would have to push forward, and hope that his nerves would not destroy his one chance to reach for something that he hadn’t hoped for in ages.

If only he could work up the courage to _do so_.

 


	2. Will You be Back Again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aleks finds some courage.

It had taken him another week to build up the necessary resolve to start acting on his idea. A full week, and for each day of that week he had descended further into a maddening bundle of anxiety, because each day the man had returned.

He never failed. He was always prompt, always dressed as though he had somewhere important to be, and yet he would stop and stand at the edge of the street, looking up through the fluttering curtains. Aleks was desperate to get closer, to see what it was his face did when he listened, to see if he breathed quickly or slowly, to know if his voice was light or deep. He wanted to know his name, know his thoughts, know his past and his dreams. He wanted so many things he could hardly think straight, and he had no idea if any of them were possible. He had built this stranger up in his head, locked away safe in his apartment, distantly longing for something that he had no idea whether it existed or not. The one and only thing that he knew about the man below was that he liked to listen to Aleks play.

But dammit, that was enough.

Once he had finally worked up the courage to act, it had taken him another two days to find a coffee shop that suited his needs. He had visited every one within a mile radius, and since it was close to downtown there were quite a lot of them. He knew that he was being ridiculous, but he could not settle for average coffee. He wanted the finest, the best brewed, the one that could warm by smell alone, crafted with care. This man that he wanted so badly to impress wore very expensive clothes, and had impeccable taste from what Aleks could see. He did not want to offend him by offering a subpar beverage. No, that would not do at all.

He had finally found an acceptable shop, however. It was cozy, lit up with warm lighting inside that danced off the charming decorations. The staff was friendly, and it was by far the best cup of espresso that Aleks had ever tasted, so he could only hope it would meet the standards of his mysterious fan, as well. With this discovery made, he no longer had a reason to delay, and had to force himself to action. So, this morning he had risen from bed and dressed in his favorite attire, arranging his hair in the most presentable way that he could manage. He had killed time by playing most of the morning, letting his anxious energy spill out into the music. He knew that it must sound terrible, but he kept the window closed, so that only his own ears were being assaulted. When the time came, he donned his coat and went to get the coffee, refusing to rehearse any lines, because he knew that he would only get them wrong anyways.

Thus, he found himself standing around the corner of his building, peering over the edge, two cups of coffee gripped in his shaking hands. He had been standing there for several minutes like that before he spotted his target, marching up the street with brisk purpose. He was hunched inside his coat, and Aleks realized that he must be freezing. By Russian standards the temperature was mild, but he remembered hearing people in the coffee shop talk about the record cold snap, and he was flooded with guilt for taking so long to initiate their introduction. How miserable must this man have been, braving the frigid air just to hear his paltry songs. Aleks was a selfish fool for letting his nerves force them both to suffer.

The man stopped in his usual spot, turning to gaze up at the window, and Aleks watched him deflate to see it closed. Aleks had not expected that. The man stared, frozen in despair as his shoulders drooped and his brow furrowed. He looked as though he had lost something precious as he considered the dark and empty apartment. It stirred something within Aleks, something that relied on instinct so intrinsically that he could not ignore it, nor could his racing thoughts distract him from acting on it. The sadness in this man was too much, and all Aleks wanted to do was lift it from his shoulders and see if that would let the statue move.

He left the relative safety of his hiding place, his strides long and full of purpose as he approached the man. The closer he got the faster his heart beat, racing against his ribs like a panicked hummingbird. He stood next to him, and he realized that the man was taller than him, which made all the words he could have said fall out of his head and crumble on the ground. He held out the cup of coffee, shoving it in his face without preamble, and the man startled and turned to look at him.

Oh, but this was a mistake. He could not recover from this. This man was _beautiful._ The curve of his jaw was poetry, the lashes banked around his dark eyes an entire symphony unto themselves. He blinked in surprise, his gaze picking Aleks apart by the seams, but he was _happy_ to unravel. It was unfair how attractive he was up close. He was alluring in every inch of his pose, every muscle screaming sensuality that made Aleks want to swoon. Then there was his gaze. A gaze full of depth that could drown the ocean, full of promises that were too perfect to be spoken.

Aleks took a sip of his coffee, hoping that it would wipe away the smirk he felt forming across his face, praying that he didn’t look as besotted as he felt. “I thought today you might like to listen to me play inside, where it is not so cold.” He was infinitely proud of himself that he had not babbled something incoherent, and he felt blessed that he had also not sounded like a fool. If there was a one and only time that he was granted the ability to appear smooth, he was grateful that it had been spent on this moment.

The man blinked at him, a cat startled from its normal routine, gazing at Aleks as though trying to judge if he were a predator. He was at a loss for words under his regard, so he held the coffee cup higher, hoping that he would take it. Hoping that this awkward silence would not stretch into eternity and swallow them both, never to be seen again. To his undying relief, the man reached up and grasped the cup, though that did not stop his intense study of everything that Aleks was. Aleks didn’t speak, because he couldn’t, waiting to see what the man would say, waiting with his breath caught in his throat, waiting to hear his voice. _Speak for me, midnight man. Speak for me._

Aleks was not even remotely prepared for the blush that crept across the man’s cheeks, his eyes dipping towards his shoes. “I…I didn’t think you were aware of my presence. I apologize for disturbing you.”

Oh. _Oh._ The pink across his cheeks, the low rumble of his words. Aleks chuckled, knowing that he was lost and doomed after only pittance of a phrase. “Not at all. It was good to have such an attentive audience. It reminded me to play my best.” He was flirting, and there wasn’t a chance in heaven or hell that he could stop himself. That voice was enough to bring him to his knees, that face enough to make him write sonnets in his honor.

To his utter delight, the man smirked, his eyes twinkling with something that spoke of the same kind of magic one found on the cusp of twilight. “Your best is very impressive.”

“You think so?” Aleks felt himself blush. Was he flirting back? Was this truly happening to him?

The man took a sip of his coffee, oozing the kind of confidence that Aleks could only dream of. “Yes. Your talent is clearly of a very high caliber.”

His cheeks erupted into fire, and he knew that he must look like a disaster. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck as his mind fumbled to find words to respond. So much for being smooth. “I…thank you. I don’t really know what to say.” He laughed, nervous, his composure crumbling in the face of such a high compliment. What was it that he was doing? Wasn’t he hoping to ask this beautiful man something, before he had smiled and stolen the air out of his lungs? _Ah, yes. The music._ “I…um, would you like to come up? It would be my honor to play for you. Inside, this time.”

“I…I wouldn’t want to impose.” The man averted his gaze, and Aleks could spot the lie before it had even left his lips. He _did_ want to come up, and that did things to Aleks’ heart that were so much worse than rejection. That made him think of _possibilities,_ and those were always dangerous.

“No!” he held out his hand, waving it to ensure his meaning was punctuated as firmly as possible. “No, it would be my pleasure. I want to be able to play for someone who has been so nice to stop and listen to me so often.”

The smile that crossed the man’s face could have saved the world, but it was turned at only Aleks, so it saved him alone instead. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a request, then. It’s the least I can do to repay you for the coffee.” He held the cup aloft, taking another sip around his grin.

Aleks cleared his throat, blushing again. He couldn’t believe this man was flirting with him. He couldn’t believe this gift had literally wandered up to his doorstep and he had waited to weeks to retrieve it. “I _did_ have to walk three blocks to get the best coffee. I, uh, did not think anything common would do.”

The man’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening just the slightest amount, and Aleks was terrified that he had said too much. Had he misread the signals? Was he blinded by his own wishes to the point that geniality had seemed to be mutual interest? Aleks felt like a fool to fall and a fool to speak, mired in his own ineptitude.

The man stuck out his hand, looking embarrassed, although Aleks could not fathom why. “I’m Jumin, by the way.”

Aleks took his hand, feeling a jolt of energy pass between him that made his knees weak. It was not just the touch, but the way that Jumin held his hand, fingers brushing against his skin so softly. It was as though he were plucking a delicate flower from a cherished garden, fingers grasping it with refined pressure, holding it under the sun to be admired. He made Aleks feel as though _he_ were the stunning one, the one that could have melted the snows from the mountaintops with a warm sigh. He made Aleks feel like he was a comet, filling up the sky with light and life, and that all Jumin wanted to do was be there to observe in awestruck silence.

“Aleksei, although you can just call me Aleks. It is a rare pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jumin.” He enjoyed the way the other man’s name rolled off his tongue, like honey tainted by the burn of bourbon. Jumin gazed at him with a bemused expression on his face, the pink across his cheeks deepening, and it took every ounce of Aleks self-restraint not to rush forward and kiss him. Oh, how he wanted to murmur Jumin’s name against his lips, to taste his breath and discover just how deep his blush went…

He swallowed, trying to compose himself as Jumin let go of his hand, his gaze flitting to the side. Aleks smiled, placing his hand between Jumin’s shoulders and pushing him towards the building. “Come, you must be cold.”

They entered and made their way to the elevator in silence that felt charged with meaning, though not uncomfortable. Aleks wondered if Jumin felt the pull between them, if he felt the tension in his skin as Aleks fought the urge to touch him. He wanted to grab his hand and lace their fingers together, but some thread of worry kept him from doing so. There was a reservation in Jumin that was not easily explained, some invisible barrier between them that held Aleks at bay. As he pressed the button for the elevator and sipped his coffee, he prayed that it was not something unbreakable. He prayed that he had not let his hopes skyrocket to the heavens only for them to be unfounded after all.

He led them through the building and unlocked the door to his apartment, ushering Jumin in with as much gentlemanly charm as he could muster. They entered, and Aleks took his coat, hanging it on the wall before making his way across the room. He was ashamed that he had so little decorations, worried that Jumin would think him strange for living in such a sparse atmosphere, but he distracted himself from the feeling by running his hand along the surface of the piano, smiling at it with pride.

“ _This_ is Natasha.”

Jumin chuckled and shook his head, a lock of his hair falling across his cheek. “You named your piano?”

“Of course!” Aleks was relieved that Jumin was not mocking him, sounding more curious than anything else. “The most important thing in my life deserves a name, no?” which was a truer statement than Jumin could know, and part of the reason why Aleks had been ready to risk life and limb in order to learn his from him.

Jumin walked across the room to stand next to him, his every movement more beautiful than any song Aleks knew how to play. He slid his finger along the wood grain of the instrument, and Aleks shuddered in response. His touch looked so delicate, so careful, as though he thought the pressure of a single finger could have crumbled the world around him. Everything this man did was reserved, as though he were holding back torrents of fervor that had been trapped behind dams for years. Aleks wanted to break them down and be crushed beneath their weight. He wanted to see what was locked inside this mysterious box that spoke like a poem and moved like art.

He shifted away from the spot, walking over to take a seat at the piano before he lost his sensibilities by standing so close to Jumin. “What would you like to hear?”

“Anything.” He said the word in a breathless rush, his eyes lit up with astonished wonder. Aleks could have stared at it for a thousand years, but he would have crumbled under the intensity, and he was not ready for that yet. Instead he smiled, stretching out his fingers and running through the musical possibilities in his head. He didn’t have to think long. He knew what he wanted to play. He had known since before he had found the coffee shop, though he hadn’t dared let himself hope he would get to play it.

That was a lie. He hadn’t stopped hoping since the first day Jumin had returned to his building, but Aleks could still pretend that he wasn’t that ruined, at least to himself.

The song was a romantic one, that spoke of wistful encounters and wishes fulfilled. It was sad, because everything that Aleks was partial to was sad, but it was also full of love, and thus it was a daring choice on his part. He focused on the keys, moving with the song as he poured his heart into it, letting pieces of his soul linger in the notes.

He almost stopped playing when he glanced up again, but the muscle memory of millions of hours of practice kept his hands moving.

Jumin was standing there, his head tilted back, eyes closed. He looked lost to the music, carried away by the song, but it was more than that. It was as though he had been curled tightly within himself, a flower that had never been taught to bloom, and with the brush of the ivory keys Aleks had pried the petals open and spread them to the dazzling dawn. He no longer looked like a statue. In fact, Jumin looked more alive than any person Aleks had ever met, and the back of his throat went dry at the stunning splendor of the sight. Jumin was gorgeous, unspeakably lovely in ways that Aleks would fail to convey even if he had all the words in every language at his disposal. His only hope to express such grace, such soft sorrow that brushed the depths within him and hid away the joy that lingered in the lights of his gaze…his only hope to explain just how he felt when he saw him was through the music, and so Aleks redoubled his efforts to play.

The song ended, and Aleks was reluctant to lift his finger off the last key, letting the notes hang in the air as he struggled to breathe. Finally, after a thousand years where Aleks lived in torturous longing, Jumin lifted his head and looked at him. His eyes were softened, full of things that were intangible and yet so easy to understand. Wonder, awe, reverence. He looked at Aleks like he was something mystical that existed only in the beams of the silver moonlight, and Aleks wanted to stand and show him how wrong he was. It was Jumin that was a creature of myth and hallowed perfection, and Aleks was merely grasping at straws that might keep him in his sight. For a moment, as they held each other’s gaze, Aleks thought that Jumin would walk the short distance between them and kiss him. He could feel the energy between them, alive and alight, destroying the air in his lungs and making his heart beat like a chaotic drum. Everything about him, his face, his posture, his beautiful charcoal eyes, all of that spoke of hunger and desire that Aleks felt in his own chest in a thousand different ways.

Then the blush on Jumin’s cheeks deepened, and he looked at the floor, shying away from the moment as though it had stung him. Aleks wanted to say something, wanted to rise and ask him what he was afraid, but a phone in Jumin’s pocket denied him of the chance as it chimed, dispelling everything.

Jumin sighed, pulling his phone out and looking at the screen. “Sorry, forgive me, I need to take this.” Jumin smiled politely, and Aleks waved him off to take care of what he needed to. Jumin answered the call, holding it up to his ear and leaning his head into it to listen. “Hello, Nicolette.”

His heart felt as though it stopped in his chest, encased itself in ice, and then sank to the pit of his stomach. It was unreasonable to be so terrified of a woman’s name. After all, she could be anyone to him. She could be his sister. Or cousin. Or hideous business partner. She could be nothing and no one to him, because he could be as gay as Aleks had been convinced that he was not more than twenty seconds ago.

He could not hear what she said on the other end of the line, and so only received Jumin’s half of the conversation. “Because you won’t allow me to ask them to follow you directly.” Jumin frowned, then winced at whatever her response had been. “Look, you had said that they threatened you, or near enough to it that it should have given you pause. I’m not comfortable with you -” he was cut off as the woman on the line continued, and he looked despondent. “Very well. I will ask them to stop.” He sighed, his head hanging low in defeat. “Yes, I’m currently out, but I will head to the office at once. Will you promise me you will be careful?”

He spoke to her as though she were a lover, or something close enough to it that the difference in stature might as well mean nothing, and Aleks hated it. He hated every minute of every second that he had to bear witness to this conversation. Whoever she was, she clearly meant a great deal to him, and Aleks could feel the care that Jumin had for her rolling off him in waves. Waves that struck him forcefully, so that he wanted to topple backwards and lie on the floor, unmoving until the pain had passed.

“Fine. Please, ask for help if you need it. I don’t want you taxing yourself when we could have easily solved the problem together.” Jumin shook his hair out of his eyes, adjusting his posture to put a hand on his hip, and Aleks focused on the word ‘together’ and the way he had spoken it. He could dissect it a hundred different ways, and it would hurt each time, all so he could arrive at the same irksome conclusion over and over again.

No. That would be ridiculous. Aleks was not a foolish child, and he had not imagined the chemistry between them. Whoever Nicolette was, he had to believe that it was not what he feared. He had dared to let himself hope this much, he should not abandon it at the first sign of doubt.

Jumin hung up the phone, placing it back in his pocket. “My apologies, but I will have to take my leave.”

Then he bowed, and Aleks forgot every word that he knew, a bemused smile sticking itself onto his face. He was charmed, all the way through, and lost for the eleventh time this afternoon. Nicolette didn’t matter in the face of this ridiculous man, with his perfect face and his courtesies that were so antiquated they had become new again. He stood, walking towards Jumin as he set himself upright once more. He wanted to say so many things, but they stuck in the back of his throat, trapped there an unable to be aired.

He swallowed, licking his lips, trying to think. “Will you be back again?” it was a silly question, and probably impolite, but he could not help it. He needed to know. He needed to know if this had been all he would ever get, or if he was allowed to continue waiting for more. It was a weighted request, heavy with so many unspoken desires that Aleks had, hundreds of things that piled in his heart and dragged him into doubt and yearning. _Will you be back? Will you look at me again the way you did when I played? Will you let me see you as you were, as you are, and let me marvel at your perfection? Will you let me pine for you?_

Jumin tilted his head, his hair like falling night as it dipped towards his shoulder. “Yes, if you have no objections, I would like to return. Tomorrow I can bring the refreshments.”

 Aleks felt his entire body blush, his chest filling with so much joy that he was certain he had started glowing. He could not suppress the smile that crossed his lips as he followed Jumin to the front of the room, giving him space to don his coat. He held the door open as he left, and Jumin paused to wave. Their eyes met, for the briefest of moments, but in that time Aleks felt like Jumin was promising him so much more than a return visit. In that gaze he saw something indescribable, something abstract and wonderful, and Jumin was giving it to him. _Him._ It was astounding, but it appeared that Jumin was as happy about the return visit as Aleks was, and Aleks couldn’t fathom why. He couldn’t fathom it, but he would accept it, because he knew that nothing would make him happier.

Jumin left, and Aleks closed the door, leaning against it and clutching a hand to his chest.

Had he just found it? Had he just found that last joy that had eluded him all his life? Had he found the answers to his loneliness and sorrow? Had he found someone that he could love?

He couldn’t answer those questions, not yet. What he could do, and what he was dying to do, was continue composing his song. He raced back to the piano, pulling everything out, and set to work. That was how he spent the rest of his night. Writing notes about a man that had stunned him, and then done him the great honor of promising to return.


End file.
